Sign Here
by HumdrumBumrush
Summary: As a waitress at a local diner, Mercedes falls for Sam, a deaf patron. Their whirlwind romance greets doubters and awkwardness.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**A/N: This was originally a one-shot that I wrote under "Two Simple Words," and I received a lot of messages about making it a full story. This is just a republishing of the first chapter with a few minor edits. The second chapter's coming up directly. Please note, I have no idea what I'm doing, but your kind words have tricked me into having self-confidence. So, here it goes...**

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She wanted to flirt with him. She just needed one good phrase. One good phrase to get his attention. One good phrase to let him know that she wasn't messing around. That she wanted him.

She could've sworn he was flirting with her last week. She personally walked over to his table with the diner's last slice of cherry cheesecake and a can of whipped cream. His mohawked friend kept arguing with him about which superhero had the better cape, and with so much commotion, their lunches were left cold.

She sashayed her way towards their table, wanting him to watch her spray the dollop of whipped cream on the dessert. Their conversation seemed intense, so she figured that would bring him a smile. The mohawked gentleman, whom she learned from his credit card was Noah Puckerman, always spoke for the both of them. But this time, her blond crush mouthed a "Thank you." She was so shocked that he even noticed her that she was struck mute for a moment, even slightly losing her balance when she notice that he winked. Those green eyes and pouty smirk were going to be the death of her.

Every Tuesday, he and Noah would come in and sit in the same tiny blue booth in the back of the Lima Grill; her section. She longed for the days of the classic diner uniform of the short dress with her name stitched above the breast. Those black jeans and polo shirt were doing nothing for her curvaceous figure.

This time, she swayed over toward the two men with a put upon fierceness, dessert in tow. She made it in time for the tail end of their conversation and Noah's proclamation, "Even if you were Wolverine, you couldn't possibly have the 'nads to fight people with your blades. You'd probably just use 'em to make the kids' sandwiches and shit."

The young waitress placed the cheesecake in front of the blond with a glowing smile plastered on her face. "Here you go. It's our seasonal favorite, pumpkin."

"We didn't order this, babe." Noah gripped.

"I know. It's on the house." She retorted.

Without pause, Noah exclaimed with delight, "Sweet! Free food," and dived his fork into the blond's pumpkin cheesecake.

The girl's face faltered, something that did not go unnoticed by the plump-lipped young man, equally disappointed in his friend's greediness. He mouthed a "Thank you" her way. The waitress' brown doe-eyes brightened, and she stilled herself to think of the correct response. She finally remembered, and with great enthusiasm, motioned her hands to sign, "You're welcome." She caught the giant smile that stretched across his ample lips at her actions and figured she would quit while she was ahead; spinning on her heels and heading back towards the front counter. She facepalmed herself when she had to return to his table. Ruining her killer exit, she handed Noah the bill from her front apron pocket. "You can just take care of that when you're ready."

She lowered her head as she walked away, but this time she could feel a pair of eyes following her as she went to towel down the dessert display. At that moment she was grateful her chocolate skin would adequately mask the blush creeping up into her cheeks.

"Do you have change for a twenty?" She heard the intoned voice.

She looked up from wiping down the counter. "I beg your pardon?" She raised her head. "Oh." It was him.

"I was gonna leave this as a tip, but my friend Puck said that was way too much for just having gravy fries."

"Well, your friend's a dick," she muttered.

"He's more of an asshole, but yeah."

She grimaced in embarrassment, quickly realizing he understood her. "Shit." She recalled the sign for "Sorry" and performed it repeatedly. "I'm so so so sorry. I didn't know you could hear me."

He shook his head. "I can read your lips."

She was disappointed in her obliviousness, though it never registered with her crush across the counter.

"Do you know ASL?" Sam signed, already knowing the answer.

"'Do I…'" She translated out loud to herself. "'Do I… know… A…S…L?' No! No. I—I'm learning though."

"Why? Is your boyfriend deaf?" He inquired.

She smiled at his forwardness. "No. Well, I don't have a boyfriend."

Without missing a beat, "I'm Sam. Sam, I am." He offered his hand over the counter, which she hungrily accepted. She used her other hand to point to her tilted name badge, "Mercedes." He mouthed her name, and she nodded in affirmation.

"You're off tomorrow, right?"

Mercedes furrowed her brow in confusion. Realizing her concern, Sam answered himself, "Puck and I came here on a Wednesday and you weren't in your section."

"Oh. Then, yes." She couldn't believe he remembered her schedule or her section.

"Well, if you're free, maybe you could come by my studio. There's always pizza… and me. I'll be there all day."

Overcoming her initial dismay, the petite waitress grinned and spelled out a quick "O.K." with her free hand. A disarmingly sweet lopsided grin broadcasted his elation.

"Great! I'll see you tomorrow." Sam slid over the restaurant bill and the twenty dollars. As Mercedes went to get change, he stopped her with a simple headshake. He walked towards the door where Noah, or "Puck" as Mercedes just learned, waited impatiently.

Realizing he hadn't given her an address, Mercedes shouted rather uselessly at Sam's oblivious back as it walked out of the door. The swift feeling of defeat was eclipsed by the joy of a four hundred percent tip on a basket of gravy fries. She noticed a small business card resting on top of the bill with a zonked-out zombie illustrated on the front. She flipped it over to see "Sam Evans, Graphic Artist" and his address.

The next day, when she pulled up to the address, Mercedes was certain she was at the wrong place. It was a warehouse on the edge of Lima, that she was sure as a teenager she and a few friends had attacked with empty beer bottles. She was caught between exhilaration and trepidation. She'd spent most of the night and morning practicing phrases that she might have to use, and a good two hours settling on a pair of tight jeans and blouse that persistently fell off of her shoulder. With unsteady legs, Mercedes reached the front door and wondered how this was going to work. Her first instinct was to knock, and afterwards felt like an idiot. She noticed the doorbell, figured what the hell, and rang it. To her surprise the lights in the surrounding windows flickered, and before she could catch her bearings, the door swung open.

"I can't believe you knocked." Sam laughed.

Mercedes would be annoyed if it weren't for the sight of the handsome blond in his muscle-hugging henley. He had clearly watched her through the window during her anxiety-ridden trek from her car to the door. Sam grabbed her hand, and yanked her into the building. It was sparse and massive, with boxes stacked everywhere and a printing press at its centerpiece. Mercedes was immediately drawn to the press, wanting to touch it and press buttons like a little kid would. She turned to him in excitement, "What do you do?"

Sam squinted his eyes and frowned his lips. "Are you talking to me? Are you talking to me?"

Mercedes looked perplexed.

"Robert De Niro." Sam informed her, only to be met with a silly "No."

"Alright, we self-publish our own comic books. Puck and myself and a few of our friends. And we get 'em into stores across the state."

"This may be the may be the coolest thing I've ever seen."

"You wanna print something out?"

Mercedes couldn't contain the exuberant squeal that escaped her mouth, clapping and jumping in glee. She composed herself and replied with a simple nod of her fist in affirmation. Sam was more than pleased with her response, and led her to the front of the machine.

"There's already something in the there. Just press the buttons."

Mercedes looked up to make sure she was doing it properly. Sam nodded her towards the correct set of buttons. She pressed them and the machine came alive. And just as anticlimactically turned off, sputtering out a single sheet of paper. She leapt towards it, her mouth agape in astonishment. "What is this?" She lifted and examined the page.

"The cover for our latest issue."

"Mercedes the Merciful," she read. Sprawled before her was an intense drawing of Mercedes in a ripped and revealing version of her waitress uniform, using her serving tray to slide off the head of a zombie patron. She quickly turned to him and beamed. "This is amazing," she signed. She ran to him and kissed his cheek. "No one's ever done something like this for me before." Thinking she overstepped with the peck, Mercedes paced back and resolved everything with "You're very talented."

"So are you," Sam replied. Mercedes scoffed.

"You just… you've got this inner light. The way you are with people. With your customers. They're all just so happy to see you. Plus, you always have my order memorized."

"That's because you alternate between the same three appetizers. I'm not talented. You're just predictable."

Sam motioned around the room. "Is this predictable?"

"No. It's absolutely wonderful," she said with zero enthusiasm.

"Fine, then. So what _is _your talent?" Sam probed.

An ironic chuckle crept out in Mercedes' response. "Singing. I can sing."

"I bet you're amazing."

Refusing all modesty, "Yeah. I'm pretty good."

Sam folded his arms. "Sing me something."

"I can't sing you a song. I mean, I could but…"

"Just sing me a fucking song! Please." Sam intoned with that deadly smirk.

"So rude." Sam shrugged. "Fine." Mercedes cleared her throat and sighed, allowing the first song in her head to roll off of her tongue.

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine_

_You make me happy when skies are gray_

_You'll never know, dear, how much I love you_

_So please don't take my sunshine away._

Sam applauded wildly. "The most awesome song I've never heard. Now let's eat." He walked away, leaving Mercedes to hurry behind him and catch up. Towards the back of the warehouse was a room set aside. A small apartment, homey and palatial. On a kitchen island were stacks of empty pizza boxes.

"I wasn't lying about the pizza."

Sam motioned for her to have a seat on the couch. She obliged.

"You never answered my question," Sam remembered.

"What?"

"Why are you learning sign language?" He asked, sitting dangerously close to her.

Mercedes deflected, "So I can be my own interpreter at all of those sold-out bus station performances."

"Do you want me to teach you a few signs?"

She nodded, "Sure."

"Alright. Just do what I do. Okay?" Sam's long pale fingers curved into a few basic signals. Mercedes watched him diligently and slowly replicated his movements over and over again.

Sam finally ascribed the meaning to each sign. "Can. I. Kiss. You?"

Mercedes mindlessly repeated aloud, performing the corresponding signs. "Can. I. Kiss. You?"

"Of course," Sam replied. And before she knew it, one of the hands she was watching so closely clasped the back of her neck and pressed her forward into a tender kiss. He sucked in his lips to taste the gloss that had transferred from hers.

"You ass." She smiled and pushed herself into another kiss that landed Sam on his back, wedging him between the cushions. His hands roamed her back, cautious not to grip the areas that he longed for. However, Mercedes was not as mindful. Consuming his plush, pink pout, she decided to retreat and allow her tongue to travel down his neck. Sam swiped his kissing partner's hair to the side for better access to her shoulder, which he nipped and sealed with a precious lick. She moaned in appreciation of Sam's gradually immodest hands cupping her breasts. She kissed his cheek, pecking her way to the tip of his ear, which she greeted with a gentle tug of her teeth. Licking his lobe, Mercedes paused at the taste of hard plastic.

"Is that a hearing aid?" Mercedes asked. Sam bobbed his head.

Her curiosity flourished, along with surprise. "Can… can you hear me?"

"I can hear echoes mostly. Sirens sometimes. Your voice is… faint. But it's lovely."

"You don't wear it at the diner, when you're with Puck."

"Would _you_ wanna hear Puck?"

Mercedes smiled and shook her head.

"I have a system," Sam divulged.

"What kind of system?"

"If you like what I'm doing, pat my back. I mean, literally, pat me on the back. If you don't or you want me to stop, you just grab my hands. Whatever you want, I'll do. Okay?"

Processing what he said, Mercedes slowly nodded. "O—O—Okay." She was taken aback by his instructions and the dark look in his peridot eyes. If only he knew, whatever he wanted _she_ would do. Sam bit his bottom lip, a small gesture to control his huge impulse.

"Kiss me," Mercedes signed more confident than before. He sprung at her orders, devouring any lip gloss that had carelessly remained on her pillowy lips. A hand returned to their cushioned spot cupping her breast. Sam seized when she grabbed his hand.

"I'm sorry," He demurred.

Mercedes coyly shook her head and placed his hand on the button of her jeans. She licked at his lips until they allowed her entry, as Sam's hands fiddled with her jeans until they allowed his. Sam dropped to the floor on his knees, pulling her pant legs down with him. She wiggled the rest of her way out, and pulled his face back to hers, unable to get enough of his kisses. Only breaking the kiss to liberate each other of their shirts. Mercedes gleamed at his taut, muscular torso, and allowed her hands to self-consciously trail down his abs. This time, she was met with a tug of the wrist, as Sam lowered her small umber fingers to the fly of his jeans.

He gestured, "I want you." A set of signs that Mercedes understood completely. In fact, it was the first phrase she had taught herself. And with that, she hastily took Sam out of his jeans and boxer briefs. His thick, hard member was even more impressive than the printing press. She didn't know where to begin, and decided upon a soft, measured kiss to his tip. She was taken aback when he pulled away from her, only to watch him push back the apple crates he called a coffee table. Before she could ask, Sam grabbed her by her expansive hips and dragged her onto his lap on the surface rug. She gripped his shoulders for leverage to assist him in taking off her boy shorts.

"_This is actually happening!_" played continually in her mind in all exclamation points, when Sam laid her down on the floor; having her wet center straddle his stomach. He gave her ass a hearty smack, shocking herself when she whimpered in delight. Sam squeezed her luscious, pliable thighs as a gesture to move farther up his body. His mouth, the destination.

"Wait." Mercedes thought for a moment and reversed her position, giving Sam a glorious view of the behind that he'd spent months staring at in a daze, as it walked away to place his order. He situated her drenched netherlips atop his face. The first taste propelled his preejaculate, which Mercedes went to work devouring. Each stride Mercedes attempted was thwarted by Sam and his magical tongue. Her focus was nonexistent, and Mercedes quickly realized Sam wanted it that way. She was determined to fight off that familiar build-up in her abdomen and took him into her mouth. She reluctantly had to release his cock at the feeling of him sucking on her clit. She couldn't very well scream his name with her mouth full.

"Fuck, Sam!" She turned her head, trying to figure out how to pat him on the back. He placed a death grip on her hips as she spasmed. Her cream was all the pat on the back he needed.

Sam unwillingly let her crawl off of him. Mercedes tried to collect herself, but made the mistake of glimpsing that adorable face with his disheveled golden locks, lustful eyes and cum-drenched chin.

Mercedes panted, "Where's your bed?"

Sam got off of the floor. He held out his hand and helped her up. Lacing his fingers with hers, he led her to the bed.

"I'll be right back." He kissed their joined hands. Sam took out his hearing aids and placed them on his nightstand, before heading to the bathroom.

Mercedes swam in the nice, cool sheets, tempering her body, which was on fire from the mere thought of Sam's touch. She closed her eyes, thinking of all those nights her body would remain restless until imaginings of his lips and his touch lulled her to sleep. The way her heart would leap at the realization of a Tuesday morning. His kindness. His humor. His everything. Her crush had morphed into something else, not just lust.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by a set of arms wrapping themselves around her full waist, and the gentle kisses on her back. She savored this moment of closeness, leaning back into his snuggle. He nibbled her neck.

"Are you ready for me, beautiful?" Sam taunted. Mercedes looked behind her and gave him a tempestuous nod.

Sam lifted her chin and gave her a passionate kiss, as he hoisted her leg and took her from behind. Mercedes gasped at the fullness, clenching her fists to contain herself.

After a few moments of adjustment, he asked, "You want me to keep going?" She nodded her fist, and with that he slowly drove in and out of her. With each pump, Mercedes felt ascension. She latched her lips onto his neck for him to feel the vibrations of her grateful moans. She moved to his rhythm, hinting for him to go faster, and he did.

Within moments, Sam had her with her ass in the air and her face driving into the pillows. That inescapable feeling of contentment filled the room, and then she heard him. "You feel so good, Mercedes. So fucking good."

He said her name.

That simple act and she came undone. She felt free. She felt bliss. She felt… love. Maybe it was too soon, but she felt it.

Her orgasm crashed into her with an overjoyed, "Oh god, Sam! I love you! I love you so much!" She shut her eyes, mortified at her own emotional revelation, and yet somewhat relieved that his hearing aids were on the nightstand.

Sam choked out his peak, kissing up and down her spine. He carefully pulled himself out of her, and she already missed his touch. He kissed the corner of her ear and breathed, "I love you, too."

Mercedes' eyes flew open to see the hearing aids no longer on the nightstand. She looked up at Sam and that smirk, and muttered to herself, "Well son of a bitch." She smiled and grabbed him for a kiss, refusing to ever let him go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Mercedes could listen to him snore all morning. It wasn't like a chainsaw buzzing. It was soothing, like a lullaby she could hum with in harmony, and at some point during the night, she actually did. She lied against his chest, savoring his firm grasp, and dreading the approaching dawn.

She looked at the clock, and with a heavy sigh rolled out of bed. Her first few steps on the floor were a bitch. Her full day of pleasure was now a morning with a sore back and an awkward gait. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms, soon regretting the latter and fretted about how she was suppose to serve people coffee all day. Maybe she could call in sick? Lord knows she wanted to. The thought of another full day of him had her heady and delirious. But she knew if she took tone day off, she would take the next and then the next until her body was absolute putty. For a moment, she couldn't think of why that was a bad thing. However, when her body could barely walk into the bathroom without feeling like she'd been beaten by a bookie she owed a large debt to.

She drew a bath, and prayed it would ease her soreness. She was startled by her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a mad woman. Hair splayed everywhere. Connect the dot hickies on her shoulders and breasts and everywhere else Sam saw fit. Even her ass had purpled handprints like a kindergartener's finger painting. She inched her way into the warm water, already soothing her joints.

Mercedes sat still and let everything sink in. Where she was. Who she was with. What transpired. She couldn't believe it. AND he said "I love you." At least that's what she thought she heard. Maybe she was just caught up in the moment. A hysterical climax or something. But when she thought of the rest of the evening and knew she heard correctly. The way they snuggled and fed each other cold pizza at midnight. How Sam taught her all of the correct signs for their anatomy. How Sam made her sit on the warehouse copier for a poster size picture of this second favorite part of her body. Her mouth was his favorite and made sure to never let it feel neglected for too long. She thought about riding him among the warehouse boxes. About him taking a seat and devouring her walls on the kitchen island. And with those thoughts her hands began to travel beneath the soapy water and replay last night's magic.

She was interrupted by a loud thud outside of the bathroom door. Mercedes scrambled out of the tub and reached for the nearest towel, wrapping herself and bursting though the door. To her surprise, a dressed Sam was at the foot of the bed, lacing up his boots.

Mercedes' shyness crept in and a coy gesturing of "Good morning" was all she could muster.

"I don't have eggs." Sam blurted out. "I wanted to make you breakfast, and I realized I don't have eggs… or milk… or bacon. Nothing a a rational person would have in their fridge. So I was gonna go get that."

Mercedes wondered aloud, "Do you even know how to cook eggs?"

"No, but I was gonna try." That lopsided grin kicked in.

Mercedes bit her bottom lip in a salivating fashion, realizing she was hooked on this man. But her face soon faltered. "I've gotta go. I've gotta go home and get my uniform, brush my teeth, figure out what you did to my hair."

She watched him gesture, trying to figure out what it meant and drawing a blank. "What?"

"Stay," he spoke. "Stay with me."

She pouted, "I want to. But-."

Sam opened his arms. "Come here," he whispered.

Mercedes readily leapt from against the doorframe and into his arms. He grabbed her toweled body and sat her on his lap. "When can I see you again?" He asked into her collarbone. "Tonight?"

She pulled his face forward, for him to read her lips. "I've got a ten-hour shift. Tomorrow, maybe?"

Sam shook his head, "Puck and I've got a big order to take to a bookstore in Urbana." They shared a collective sigh between them. "When's your next day off?"

Mercedes huffed and with her right hand spelled, "S-U-N-D-A-Y."

"Sunday?" Sam exclaimed. He groaned into his lady's touch. "That's forever from now."

She kissed his cheek. "It's only three days and we can text and stuff between now and then. It would help if I actually had your phone number."

"You can have whatever you want, sweetheart." He gently kissed her lips, but Mercedes sheepishly covered her mouth.

"I need to brush my teeth," she pleaded.

Sam shushed her, and continued to mindlessly kiss her dazed face. They fell back on the bed. His quick, agile fingers went straight for her towel, the only barrier between him and last night's rapture. Mercedes didn't even bother fighting the moans that steadily escaped from her core. She felt his lips travel towards her soft belly, and she almost caved, until she saw the time on the clock and regretfully had to pull his hands up. "I'm sorry." She signed. "I really have to go."

He crawled back up for one last kiss. "Sunday."

Mercedes nodded, "Sunday." She collected her towel and scurried into the living room to pick up her strewn clothes from the night before.

When she arrived at the Lima Grill, she looked like a hanger had been shove in her mouth, she was smiling so. She bypassed the bickering elderly couple that sat up front. Bypassed Zizes the fry cook and the pot of coffee that crashed onto the floor. Happily putting on her work apron and wrapping her arms around the Latina curmudgeon counting an 87 cent tip at the work station.

"Good morning, Santana. You look wonderful. What have you been doing?" Mercedes beamed.

"Spitting in the desserts of bad tippers." Santana groaned.

"Well, you look fabulous. I would kill for those cheeks."

"What's happening right now?" Santana stood confused.

Mercedes giggled. "What are you talking about?" She giggled again. She couldn't help it.

Santana whispered, "Look, if you're gonna puff puff this early in the morning, at least have the decency to pass."

"I'm not high. I'm just happy. Can't I be happy?"

This started to click for Santana. "You got some last night, didn't you?"

Mercedes blushed. "What? No. I'm just in a good mood."

"Really?" Santana dropped her menial tip on the floor. "I'm sorry. Could you help me pick that up?"

"Why, certainly." Santana waited, as Mercedes slowly bent over, grimacing in pain halfway down. She stopped. "I can't pick it up."

Santana cockily asked, "And why's that?"

Mercedes relented, "Because I got some last night."

The Latina waitress cheered, "You finally fucked Soldier Boy? Tell me everything. Did he taste like Forrest Gump?"

"What does that— what does that even mean? Wait, no I didn't sleep with Finn."

"Then why is he here?"

"What?"

"Yeah, he's been waiting for, like, half an hour for you to start your shift."

Mercedes glanced over at her section. Empty except for one man sitting in a blue booth—Sam's booth, as she'd affectionately come to think of it. She watched him roll up the sleeves of his rugby shirt and pretend to focus on the menu in front of him. She took a deep breath and walked towards him.

"Good morning. How are you doing today?"

Finn looked up from his menu, "Oh, hey. I didn't see you there, Mercedes. How are ya?"

She couldn't lie, "I'm really good, actually. You know what you want yet?"

He stared at her intently, "I do."

"Great!" Mercedes whipped out her notepad and pen, ready to scribe. "What can I get for you?"

She shook him out of his reverie, and answered as casually as he could. "Um… the Sunnyside Special with extra hash browns and a glass of O.J."

She smiled brightly and grabbed his menu. "Coming right up."

Mercedes bounced over to the chef's window, shoving her ticket in front of Zizes and repeating the order.

Santana leaned against the front counter, stacking her serving tray with a family's meal. "I mean, damn, Mercy. Even your ass is happy."

"Do you work?"

"All jaunty and shit."

"It's not… jaunty. Is it really jaunty?"

"Your ass could have cartoon birds tweeting to it, it's so happy."

Mercedes poured a glass of orange juice and placed it on her serving tray. She laughed, "Shut up." She began to walk back to Finn's table, conscious to dial down the… joy that she seemed to be radiating.

Finn grinned, "You're back."

"That's usually how it works unless you're Santana." She placed the orange juice in front of him. "Your order should be out shortly." She began to walk away before Finn reached for her.

"Hey, stay for a minute."

Mercedes hesitated, "Actually, I have to-." She looked at the surrounding empty tables. "What the hell." She relaxed her stance and took the pen from behind her ear. "So… are you adjusting to being back in Lima?"

"I've been coming in here for like six months now. I think I've adjusted all right."

"I didn't realize you've been coming in here for that long. Well, I guess you have. Your hair's grown out some."

Finn gauchely touched the sides of his hair. "Do you like it?" He inquired.

"I kinda was partial to the army cut. Maybe 'cause I was used to it."

"I'll cut it tomorrow."

"Don't do that. Keep this. I like this Finn. Keep him."

Finn went for it. "Are you doing anything this weekend? I've got these tickets to the Monster Truck rally, and…"

"Oh, no. I can't."

"I mean, if that's not what you're into, I hear Journey's coming to town…"

"No, it's not that. It's just-."

They were interrupted by a loud voice squeaking from the section across from them.

Sugar was a new waitress at the diner. Santana was considered Miss Congeniality compared to Sugar. So, when Mercedes heard her shout "DO. YOU. WANT. COFFEE?," she sprang to Sugar's side.

"Hi. Can I help with anything?" She looked down at the patron. "Sam?"

Sam smiled sheepishly, "I couldn't wait 'til Sunday."

"Well what are you doing over here?"

"She grabbed me." Sam signed ferociously. Mercedes squinted her eyes to understand.

"Gr—gr—grabbed? She grabbed you." It hits her and she turns to Sugar, "She grabbed you?"

"It's been a light morning." Sugar replied matter-of-factly.

"Um, Sugar, I'm pretty sure the guy in my section's food is ready. Could you please give it to him? And I'll take care of this gentleman."

"Whatever." Sugar vanished.

Sam and Mercedes remained, silently basking in their glow. He took her hand. His callused thumb rubbing against her soft brown skin. A faint tingling cascaded throughout her body, as her smile grew bigger than before.

"Order something so it doesn't look like you had your way with me."

Sam simpered, "But I did have my way with you."

"Order something anyway."

Sam pointed to the "Blueberry Blintz Bonanza." "Four," he signaled.

"Four?" She asked. "You work up an appetite?"

"I thought you might join me," Sam coyly shook his head.

"My shift just started."

Sam poked out his lip "Please," he signed.

"Big baby. I'll get Sugar to cover, when our food comes out." She finally let go of his hand, and wrote down his order. She could feel him eyeing her as she walked away, but this time she let her jauntiness fly.

"Mercedes." She halted, and turned around to sight of a heartbroken Finn and his half-eaten meal.

"Hey, Finn. Sorry about that. How are your eggs?"

"They're good," he replied hollowly.

"Great. Look, I wanted to apologize. I sorta have an emergency, so I'll have Sugar handle the rest of your meal. Is that alright?"

Finn focused in on the blond with his eyes firmly planted on Mercedes. "Yeah… yeah, it's cool."

Mercedes looked relieved. "Take care, Finn." He nodded and shuffled the fork around his eggs. She lightly patted his shoulder as she left.

Mercedes hopped into the back seat of Sam's truck. Another new experience. His truck smelled like ink and the pine air-freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror. She gushed when she saw the bound stack of comics in the front seat with her image on the front. Sam followed suit, two styrofoam boxes in his hand. As soon as they got comfortable, he set a box of blintzes on her lap. She soon dropped the box and grabbed Sam's face in a desperate, smoldering kiss. She lifted her shirt over her head. "I've got twenty minutes," she signed. She reached for his belt buckle, ready to release him.

"Waitwaitwait…" He grabbed her hands.

Mercedes winced in humiliation. "I'm sorry, Sam. I just—I just want you so much." Her immediate urge was to grab her shirt and hide herself, but Sam wouldn't let that happen. He kissed both of her wrists, and placed her hands around his neck.

The blond suitor licked his lips, preparing for the words that were about to come out of his mouth. "I love you, Mercedes."

She shut her eyes at the three little words and their wallop. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gave him a plaintive smile, dropping her hands into her lap. "You know you don't have to say that, right? I mean, just because I said it yesterday, there's no obligation. It's nice to hear, but you don't-" She sniffled. "You don't have to say it, Sam." This time she did reach for her uniform shirt and went to put it on. A frustrated Sam yanked the shirt out of her hands and catapulted into the front seat, startling Mercedes.

"I love you, goddamnit!" Sam signaled ardently.

"I didn't catch the last part."

"Goddamnit." He spoke, redoing the gesture.

Mercedes cheeped a humble, "Oh."

"I love you," he mouthed, inching closer towards her. His olive gaze, intense and piercing.

Mercedes protested, "We hardly know each other." Sam's reply was a measly shrug. "You don't even know my last name."

Sam perked up and exclaimed, "James!"

Mercedes hung her head with a morbid chuckle; him having proved his point. She lifted her hand and spelled it for him. "J-O-N-E-S."

"Jones." Sam whispered. His mouth was agape in shame. He casually kicked the latest issue of his comic under the seat, after noticing the illustrated skywriting on the back that read "Marry me, Mercedes James." Sam shook his head, refusing to be flustered by this news, "Deosn't matter. I love you. You're… sunshine, Christmas morning and Comicon all in one. Every moment with you is-."

"Magic." Mercedes felt it.

Sam nodded, "Yeah."

Mercedes rushed into his strong arms with an enchanted "I love you."

Sam beamed "I love you, too." He crashed his pouted lips into hers. Every thought and feeling overflowed between the two of them. His tongue licked the seam of her lips until she assented to his entrance. Her hands tangled through his soft blond locks. He laid her on her back, as he kneeled between her legs.

Sam signaled, "How much time do we have?"

Still engulfed in her Sammy-haze, she begged him to repeat the motions. She grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch. "1-5 minutes." She signed back. She couldn't remember the sign for "fifteen."

Grazing his neck, Mercedes could feel Sam's rapid pulse, as he kissed up and down her arm. She nervously laughed at his peridot eyes and wondered if she gave across the same level of intensity, because her heart certainly felt it. She took Sam's hand that was not keeping him steady and place it over her pulsating heart. Just being near him made her feel like she ran a marathon.

Sam took the liberty of palming beneath her bra cups and rubbing her sensitive chocolate buds. Both of them still in their jeans, Sam's denim bulge leisurely grinded against her increasingly moist center.

"What do you need me to do, beautiful?" Sam said, with a slight thrust.

"Put-," she shuddered. "Put your fingers in me, Sammy." She went about undoing her jeans.

Sam smiled softly at the brief glimpse of a girlish bow atop her pink panties. With her pants around her ankles, Sam raised her short legs over his head. The jeans skimming back the blond hair against his forehead. He cupped her drenched mound, grazing the small, curly tuff of hair above.

"You're beautiful." Sam gestured.

Mercedes covered her face, bashfully. Feeling so exposed beneath his leer. The morning sun gleamed through the windows. Her bra raised above her breasts. She hissed as the first of his thick, long fingers inside of her. The second finger, she giggled at his exquisiteness. She gripped his hand to pump her harder. Her eyes clamped in ecstasy as he thumbed her throbbing nub.

"Why?" She whimpered almost to herself. "Why are you so good to me?"

She felt him suck her pillowy bottom lip, praying that he never let go. Her hands craved something to touch, and reached for his clothed chest.

Sam breathed, "That's it, sweetheart. That's it. You like that?"

Mercedes nodded without hesitation. A delicious guttural moan emerged and Sam's ministrations provided her ecstatic eruption. She felt lit from within. That unabashed smile returned tenfold, as well as, a pleased chortle.

Sam traced her full lips with his previously occupied fingers, letting them gloss her pout. Mercedes lifted her head, anticipating his kiss and dying all over again when their lips met. A final wanton smooch and Mercedes lifted her legs from over his head, pulling up her pants.

Sam rested against the window with his box of blintzes, aimlessly picking and eating the blueberries, as he watched her getting dressed. She treasured this moment.

"Hey, who was that guy?" Sam mused.

Mercedes searched over the front seats and grabbed her shirt. Looking at him, she signed, "What guy?"

"In your section," he said. Deciding to compassionately signal, "The sad guy."

"F-I-N-N," she spelled and shook her head. "He's not sad."

"He's sad," Sam declared with a pause. "And he likes you."

Mercedes smirked, "According to you, all the customers like me."

"Of course," Sam smiled. "But he likes you in a way that you're pretending that he doesn't like you."

Mercedes' face contorted in confusion. "He was in the army, but he's back now." She explained. "He needs a friend," she gestured to him. She fiddled with her disheveled hair, and placed it in a messy bun with her pen. She posed for Sam for him to give her a once over.

"Perfection," he motioned.

She cupped his stubbled cheek and gave him one least kiss. She really meant it this time.

"Sunday," she mouthed solemnly.

Sam nodded, "Sunday."

Mercedes climbed out of the other side of the truck, and headed through the parking lot towards the diner.

"Hey!" Mercedes heard him shout from out of the backseat. Sam ran up to her. She enjoyed his tousled appearance in the sunlight. "Come with me to Urbana tomorrow," he said with a puff of air.

Mercedes laughed, "What?"

"Come with me to Urbana tomorrow. It's not a long drive. You and me and Puck, we'll deliver the comics and have the rest of the day to do whatever you want."

"Sam, I have to work."

"Get the scary one to cover for you."

"Which one?" Mercedes signed playfully.

"I don't care. I just wanna see you. Plus, you said we don't know each other. What's a better way to get to know each other than a road trip?"

Mercedes thought sincerely about it, "It would probably mean no Sunday."

Sam shrugged, "There's always Tuesday."

Mercedes smiled. Because of him, Tuesday would always be her favorite day of the week. Sam caught her with his pleading, puppy dog eyes.

She huffed, "Fine, I'll see what I can do."

Sam beamed, "Fantastic."

"I really do have to work now."

Sam nodded sternly only to make her smile more. She waived and headed back towards the building.

Behind her back, Mercedes heard a loud proclamation, "I love you, Mercedes Jones!" She smiled into the ground as she opened the front door. Her face immediately frowned as she thought of what kind of favor she'd have to pull to convince Santana to pull a double-shift tomorrow.

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**A/N: I survived writing my first second chapter of anything. God help us. So the next chapter will be full of awkward Spuckcedes in a truck. Should be interesting… or not. We shall see. Speak your peace, and write a review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**A/N: I know, I know. This** **is super late. I honestly didn't realize it had been so long, until I actually went to upload. Yikes. But thank you to all of the new followers and the reviews and messages. All of it just gives me the warm and fuzzies. Now I've gotta update "Two Simple Words."**

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"Don't be an asshole." Sam signed from the driver's seat, giving his best dad-face.

Puck sat in the passenger seat, in offense. "When have I ever been an asshole?"

"I'm going to knock on her door. When we come back, you be nice." Sam repeated the motion for "nice" several times for emphasis.

Puck rolled his eyes. "I get it. I get it." Thinking for a moment, he asked with a smile, "Can I still stare at her ass?"

"If you wanna wake up with that squirrel shaved off of your head, then sure," Sam voiced. He leaned toward the backseat and pulled out a bouquet of sunflowers.

"Seriously, bro. Flowers. Take it down a notch."

"One day, Puckerman, you will understand." Sam hopped out of the truck and down the path towards Mercedes' duplex, flowers in hand. He fixed his hair one last time before he knocked on the door. Fidgeting in anticipation.

The front door creaked open, and his full lips creased into a smile. It vanished just as soon as it appeared, at the sight of annoyed Santana.

"So you're the reason for the blister on the back of my heel," Santana growled. "On the fifteenth hour of me dumping plates of onion rings in ice road truckers' smelly, bearded traps, I get to think to myself 'Gee, 'Cedes I sure hope the D was worth it.'"

"It is." Mercedes beamed and dragged her friend away from the door. She whispered in her ear, "For the next ten second, try not to be you. Okay?" And with thatm pulled Santana back to the door. "She was just leaving," Mercedes informed a bemused Sam. She whispered back to Santana, "Get out."

"Fine, I'll see you at work." She shoved her way past the couple, sending one last glare Sam's way as she walked toward her car.

"Santana was just dropping off my tips from yesterday. She only means, like, sixty percent of what she says."

Sam shook his head and smiled. For the full effect, he leaned in toward hers and turned on his hearing aid. "I didn't want you to be surprised this time," he explained.

Mercedes fiddled with her dress and noticed the flowers. She gestured, "Are those for me?"

Sam sheepishly nodded and handed them to her. She cupped his face and pulled him down for a kiss. Tender, but passionate. "Thank you," she mouthed.

He licked his lips to savor her taste. It was cotton candy today. He was shaken out of his concentration by her taking his hand and leading him into her home and announcing, "I'm gonna put these in some water."

The place was small, but comfortable. It looked like an actual home from what he could see from the foyer. With a coat rack and family photos. She led him straight into the kitchen; narrow with yellow walls.

Resting the flowers on the counter, she gestured, "You thirsty? There's some iced tea in the refrigerator." Excited about the new phrases she had taught herself.

Sam watched her sign "refrigerator" with such aplomb that he responded with applause.

"What's the plan for today?" Mercedes signed before bending under the sink for her only vase.

"Um, we go to Urbana. Puck and I suck up to the bookstore manager, get him to renew our order contract…"

Mercedes listened to him as she filled the vase with water, hearing him come closer.

Sam continued, "We leave Puck on the side of the road, so he can thumb his way back to Lima. I take you to Chez Beiste for dinner…" He stood behind her and swept her hair to the side, kissing her exposed neck. Mercedes shut her eyes at the sensation of his kiss, but bit her bottom lip to stifle a moan. He rose up the back of her dress "And then we come back here for dessert. Does that sound alright?"

A part of her wanted to bend over the sink, slide down her panties and get her fill before lunchtime, and the involuntary thrust of her ass made against his pants reiterated it. She cursed herself when he grabbed a hold of her hips from under her dress. He rested his chin on her shoulder, watching her trim the stems of the flowers before setting them in the vase.

Just as Mercedes got all hot and bothered, Sam gave her a quick peck on the cheek and said a nonchalant, "So, that's the plan," before stepping away.

Mercedes turned to him annoyed, and asked, "How do you sign 'tease'?"

Sam smiled and spelled out, "S-A-M."

"Very funny."

A loud horn blared over and over again outside. Sam looked around, trying to distinguish the sound. Mercedes looked out of her kitchen window, horrified, she hung her head. "Oh, no."

Sam's hands danced, "What?"

Mercedes grabbed her purse, and took Sam's hand, yanking him out the front door and down the pathway.

They were greeted to the sight of Puck on his knees with an arm pulled behind his back, the other smashing on the car horn. Curiously, the hood of Sam's trunk was up, and Santana had Puck in a half-nelson, slapping him silly.

"Do you think this is a game? Do you know where I'm from? You touch me like that again, and you're gonna wish you were in '127 Hours,' mutha-"

"Santana!" Mercedes exclaimed.

"What?" The livid woman turned to her friend.

"Let him go," Mercedes pled.

"Not until he apologizes."

"Puck, apologize," Sam demanded.

Puck lowered his head, "I'm sorry."

Santana pulled his arm tighter. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, Satan, Dragon Cooch, whatever. I'm sorry."

Santana reluctantly released him.

Sam was mortified, and signed to Puck furiously, "What's wrong with the truck?"

Puck shook his head, "Nothing. The truck's fine now."

Santana interjected, "El pendejo told me it needed a jump. He just wasn't ever clear on the 'it.'"

Sam turned to the two women and offered a doleful look. "I apologize for anything he has done. I was promised he was housebroken."

The Latina simply nodded to him and pointed towards Puck, "When I see you at the diner, you get the clam chowder. 'Cedes, you owe me."

A confused and weary Puck looked at Mercedes, "What's in the clam chowder?" She averted her gaze.

With the absence of Santana, Sam could feel the tension between his best friend and his girl intensify. Desperate to change the mood, his hands moved expressively. "Two little mice fell in a bucket of cream. The first mouse quickly gave up and drowned. The second mouse, wouldn't quit."

Puck watched him, reading his gestures and laughing hysterically, while Mercedes looked between them, back and forth, absolutely perplexed. "What? I don't get it."

"He struggled so hard that eventually he churned that cream into butter and crawled out," Sam continued, until simultaneously, he and Puck said together, "I am that second mouse."

Sam shook his head, "Your Walken is terrible."

Puck denied, and smiled, "Naw man, I think you're just hard of hearing."

They shared a laugh, smoothing the uneasiness, but stranding Mercedes. The blond boy took her hand, "Puck, this is Mercedes _Jones_. Mercedes, this is Puck."

"So, you're the cheesecake lady."

"So, you're the bad tipper."

Sam held his breath, "Are we ready to go?" Mercedes simply nodded. Puck headed towards the passenger side, only to be bombarded by Sam opening the door for Mercedes. The mohawked friend got the hint and retreated to the back seat. Wandering through the clutter seated with him, he stumbled upon the discarded Styrofoam boxes at his feet and gleamed as if he had found treasure. With his mouth full, Puck exclaimed, "Dude, these should refrigerated."

Mercedes turned around to see one of the blintzes from yesterday in Puck's mouth… from the box with the "S" in her writing. She quickly replayed the events that occurred before Sam nibbled on a blintz and cringed as Puck took another bite. "No! Don't' eat that," Mercedes yelped. Both men looked at her like she was a crazy person. "Can't be good for you. I'm saying." She turned to Sam, who gazed questioningly. "I'll tell you later," she signed. Sam shrugged it off, while Puck innocently spit out the rest of the day-old blintz into the box.

"Watches are synchronized. Everyone's gone to the bathroom…" Sam looked specifically at Puck, who nodded. "Good, then here we go."

Mercedes laid back against the headrest, as Sam started his truck, only to be startled by the throbbing loud bass from the stereo. Suddenly the lyrics permeated,

_"I don't need no confrontation_

_All I want is an ejaculation_

_Cause I like them ghetto hoochies_

_Ones who like to pop that coochie"_

Puck leapt at the iPod and turned it off, receiving a deserved glare from the couple in the frontseat. He took it in stride, "What? I usually get to pick the music. There's not a lot of protest, if you know what I mean."

Sam signed, "What did I say?"

Puck relented with a furious gesture, "I'm not being a dick. What do you want from me?"

"I mean it, Puck. No more."

"You bring the waitress and I'm cool. I sit in the back. That's fine too."

Sam pushed him, "Look at her face."

"Her face is fine. You're the one who's pissed."

"Yes, I'm pissed."

Mercedes tried to keep up the best she could, but the men were signing so fast her head was starting to hurt. She did think she saw "dick" and "waitress."

"Whoa!" Mercedes yelled. "Time out." She did the universal motion for the phrase, unsure if it was the actual A.S.L., but it got both men to shut up or at least stop signing so fast. "Everyone just calm down. We haven't even left the front of the house yet. Now I don't know what's going on, but you two apologize, so we can go."

Both men cowered after being reprimanded. Sam was the first to relent. "I'm sorry," saying it more to Mercedes than to Puck, but it was good enough.

Puck signed his apology to Sam, and said it again to Mercedes.

Mercedes clapped her hands in achievement, "Good. Can we please go now?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied.

They were quiet on the highway. None of them wanted to say anything, and Mercedes knew that Sam needed to focus with his driving. However, the blond reached across the console and rested his hand on her thigh. Mercedes' fingers laced with his, when she felt them not so subtly crawl under her dress. Her head against the headrest, her eyes peered towards the backseat at Puck, sulking against the window.

"Hey Puck."

He gave her the faintest huff, "Hmm?"

"You… you can play your music if—if you'd like. I mean, it's cool." She smiled at him for emphasis. "I'd love to hear… more." She tried desperately not to wince.

"A lot of my work recently has been inspired by Miami booty bass," he responded sincerely.

"That's… horrifying, but okay." Mercedes nodded.

He gladly turned his music back on and sang along, as Mercedes slumped in her seat.

_"My dick was hard, and she was hot like a heater_

_From the looks of her mouth, she as dick-eater_

_I said, 'You raggedy bitch, don't play dumb_

_Put my dick in your mouth and make this motherfucka cum.'"_

Mercedes breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the Urbana exit. They landed at a pink strip mall. Nestled between a laundrimat and a dollar store was Projectile Comics. It's sign was every bit as graphic as its name.

Sam pulled up to the curb to unload the truck. With each box set to the ground, Mercedes got a better view of Sam's cluttered trunk. The razor scooter, crumpled up receipts and a scarlet cocktail napkin from Breadstix After Dark. All she saw were letters and numbers scribbled: M 9-8, T 9-5, R 7-6. It seemed familiar, but she was uncertain of how, deciding instead to pick up the last box of comics. At sudden glance, she became very aware of the fact that it was her face on the cover, as she was carrying them. Sam ran to her side, taking the box. He kindly shook his head. "That's okay. You're not here for that. You're just here for me."

"Sam," she protested. "I carry trays for a living, I think I can carry a box." Her confident, seductive gaze was enough for Sam to let go, and let her lead the way into the front door.

At the ding of the front bell, Mercedes was bombarded with nerddom. If the vast comics didn't overwhelm her, the gag gifts and teen boy nostalgia would. Hanging from the walls were Chucky dolls and blacklight stills from _The Wizard of Oz_. It was a strange little place, made even stranger by the young man in front of her in the purple suit and bow tie. He walked around her in circles, sizing her up.

Talking more to himself than to anyone else, "No. Storm's too conventional. From that dress, I'm sure she's never heard of Misty Knight. Hmm… I bet she's a DC girl." He finally spoke to her, "Who's your favorite superhero?"

Mercedes thought for a moment, "Batman."

He scoffed, "Figures. Favorite horror movie villain?"

"The, um, the guy with the needles in his face…. Pinhead. Yeah, him."

"Better. Favorite manga series?"

Without missing a beat, "Manga. I'm sorry. Is that like a fruit?" She could have sworn she saw a single tear stream down his face.

"A fruit?" He whispered in disbelief.

The well-dressed man noticed Puck with two boxes and helped them onto the work counter, without any greetings, "She thinks manga is a fruit."

"Funny, I thought the only fruit in here was-"

"I assume these are Sam's comics. Comics that _you_ would like _me_ to sell?"

Sam jumped in, "Yes! Yes. Don't listen to Puck. Please."

The man fumbled with the boxes in hand as he turned to the blond, "Sam!" He shouted, "How's it going?!"

Sam shut his eyes at the man's stentorian nature. "Blaine, I told you, you don't have to shout. I can understand you."

Blaine winced, "I know. I'm sorry. Force of habit."

Sam nudged at the bashful beauty at his side, "Mercy, this is Blaine Anderson, owner of the establishment. Blaine, this is Mercedes Jones. My gir—my, um, my muse."

Mercedes took in his hesitancy, but quickly pushed it to the back of her mind, more focused on Blaine's smirk. He took her hand into his, kissing the back. "Madame, pleased to meet you."

She blushed, overwhelmed by the situation. She felt like she as on display.

The dapper man returned to the boys and grabbed a box, "Latest edition?" He asked. Sam nodded. "Sweet."

Puck rushed us to him, carefully inching a clipboard in Blaine's direction. "We just need your Thomas Jefferson on here and we'll be good to go."

Blaine gave the pages a good once over, "What's this?"

"Just a renewal contract. We show up, you promise to sell our shit. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy," Puck lamented.

Mercedes wandered over to the gag gifts. The fake teeth. The Rubik's cubes. The whoopee cushions. She noticed a pair of girls hovering over the Alan Moore corner. Well, one was pouring through the book spines, while another filed her nails and wiped the dust off of her cheerleading uniform. The girl in the paperboy hat finally found what she was looking for, her eyes bulged in delight at the sight a few shelves over. She tugged at the hood of the cheerleader's uniform.

"What, Marley?" The cheerleader asked.

"That's him," she signed.

"The writer guy? He's worth all manner of sin, I suppose."

"How do I look?" Marley signed in trepidation. The cheerleader gave her a thumbs up, allowing Marley to walk away with her holey sweater on inside out. Mercedes sighed at the frenemies and grabbed a set of naked lady playing cards.

Sam and Puck stood at the cash register, pleading with Blaine to sign the contract.

"It's just a little security for us. That's all," Sam pleaded. "Like, a good faith deal. No more handshakes and it's done."

"I don't know, man. This is asking for double the supply. How do you even know that many people will buy?"

"Because our popularity has grown steadily within the last nine months. And our server's crashed twice because of a shitload of visitors," Sam beamed.

Puck chimes in, "And neighboring states are looking for copies now. I'm talking Kentucky, Pennsylvania, fuckin' Michigan. All because of Projectile Comics and Mr. Willy Wonka himself signing on the dotted line."

Sam felt a tug on his shirt. He turned around to see the girl in the newsboy cap. He waved "Hello," unsure of what was happening.

She motioned, "Are you Sam Evans?"

He nodded. Marley moved her hands in signals with such fluidity that he swiftly realized she was like him. "I'm M-A-R-L-E-Y. I'm a huge fan. I come in here whenever there's a new issue of _Corpses Diem_. It's amazing. You're amazing."

"Thank you," he gestured. "That's always nice to hear."

Marley pointed towards the box on the counter, willing herself not to look in. She inquired, "Is that a new issue?" She gestured with anticipation.

Sam smiled graciously, and pulled a copy out of the box. He handed it to here with great pride. Fan encounters a rarity to say the least and he wanted to enjoy it. He didn't know how to take it when her grin turned into a thin line.

"Who is M-E-R-C-E-D-E-S? Is she a new character?"

Sam nodded passionately. He looked over and saw Mercedes lost in the anime export DVDs. A smirk danced upon his lips as he observed her confidence. He nudged Marley and pointed towards his lady.

He proudly signed to her, "My girlfriend."

Marley faltered a bit, but kept her stride. "I can't wait to read it. Could you sign it for me?" He lurked over the counter for a marker, and wrote and in all- caps "TO MARLEY- MY FIRST AUTOGRAPH. YOU ROCK. – SAM EVANS."

She gestured a meek "Thank you" and hugged her comic.

The cheerleader emerged and rested her head on Marley's shoulder. "This ditch day is boring. I'm bored." Oblivious to the fact that Marley couldn't hear or understand her. She looked up at Sam, her eyes all aglow. "Hi, I'm Kitty. You write comics and your attractiveness makes that borderline interesting" Sam shook her hand, replying with an uncomfortable snare. He turned to the bickering Puck and Blaine, as his mohawked friend shoved one of the boxes of comics at the bow-tied counterpart.

"Fine!" Blaine shouted, "I'll sign the deal. But I'll only have to talk to Sam."

Puck shrugged. "Seems fair." They shook on it.

Mercedes found her way back to the front, DVDs in hand. She laced her arm around Sam's.

He asked, "You about ready to leave?" She nodded her fist.

Remembering the girls in from of him, Sam signed the introductions. "Mercy, this is Marley. She's a fan of the comic." Marley waved. Her bored friend appeared, stretching and showing her bare midriff. "And this is-"

"Kitty," the young cheerleader beamed.

Sam pointed to his girl, "This is Mercedes."

"His girlfriend," Marley signed limply to Kitty.

"Mercedes," Kitty grinned. Her name not sounding altogether pleasant on the young girl's tongue. "My, aren't you… unconventional."

Mercedes tried her best to conceal her grimace, handing Blaine her purchases.

Blaine tilted his head at the items, impressed. "These are actually decent buys."

She furrowed her brow. "I know what manga is and all of that... I have a brother. And that looks interesting."

Blaine mouthed to an adoring Sam, "I like her."

Puck went to pull up the truck as they all went to say their goodbyes.

"So were you serious about us doing whatever I wanted?" Mercedes asked.

"Absolutely," Sam signed, naughtily biting his lip in anticipation of her plans.

"You said Chez Bieste, right? I've always wanted to go there. And then we can go back to my place and…"

"… And?"

"Do stuff."

"I would love to go back to your place and do stuff." He leaned over towards her, prepared to give her a kiss, when Puck huffed back to the couple.

Sam gestured, "What's wrong?"

He quickly learned when he got in his truck and the engine didn't turnover.

"How does it sound?" Sam signed.

"Like shit," Puck replied. "I told you something was wrong with the truck."

"When? When you were trying to feel up Santana?"

"Fuck that. How are we gonna get home?"

Mercedes chimed in, "I can call someone. A tow or something."

"Thank you," Sam mouthed.

While on the phone with the towing company, Mercedes noticed the girls from the comic book shop pulling up in a station wagon. She tilted her head at the sight of Sam giving her a thumbs up, as Puck climbed into the girls' backseat.

Mercedes walked back over. "They said they'll come in about an hour and take the truck back to Lima."

Sam kissed her temple in appreciation. "The girls are gonna give a ride." He was quick to notice the furrow in her brow, but failed to question it.

Mercedes reached the center of the backseat, anticipating a seat next to Sam, only to be met with Kitty at her side.

"Do you like calzones?" Kitty asked.

"They're alright, I guess," the brown girl responded.

"Great! We heard there's this place in Lima called Breadstix and we really wanted to go. And since you guys are from Lima, it's only… serendipitous that you guys join us. What do you say?"

"Hell yeah," Puck exclaimed. "I don't wanna brag, but I'm the Breadstix Breadsticks Champion two years running."

"So, it's settled." Kitty tapped the driver's seat in from of her and got Marley's attention with a thumbs up.

Sam glanced back from the passenger's seat, tossing a quizzical look Mercedes' way.

"They're taking us to B-R-E-A-D-S-T-I-X," she signed to him disappointingly.

Sam turned to Marley and with great appreciation gestured, "Thank you, but we have to get back home."

Marley shook her head. Her hands responded, "Kitty and I are big fans, and this is a once in a lifetime thing for us. Meeting our hero. We'll buy you a slice of pizza and we'll take you home. Please?"

Sam turned back to Mercedes, who caught enough to know this was Marley's dream. And who was she to stand in the way of a young girl's chance meeting with her idol. Mercedes nodded to him slightly.

With a small smile and a trepidatious "O.K." from Sam, the gang was on his way.

Mercedes did not know how she got stuck sitting at the head of the table. All she knew was that the person farthest from her was the person she wanted to be next to the most. Every once in a while, he would glance up at her with his sweet, peridot eyes smiling just for her, only to be pulled back into an intense signed conversation with Marley. Mercedes wondered what action the girl in the newsboy cap was doing that made Sam laugh so. They spoke to each other so lithely, that Mercedes was embarrassed she still couldn't even sign all of the numbers correctly. Puck animatedly chimed in leaving the whole table, including Kitty, in stitches. Except Mercedes. She was absolutely lost.

Kitty soon noticed. "I'm sorry. You must be so confused at what they're talking about."

Mercedes shook her head. "I understand a little bit. I'm still learning. Sam's helping me. You're pretty good at it, though."

"I know about enough to get Marley to do my chem lab homework for me."

"You're a good friend," Mercedes snarled.

Kitty laughed, "While those three chat about whose idea it was to reverse a leaf blower to suck in a zombie's skull…"

_Leaf blower! That's what she was signing!_

"… Me and you can talk, huh? What do you do, Motorolla?"

She forced herself to let it slide and smile, "I'm a waitress."

"So then this must be, like, the greatest day ever. Having someone serve you. It'd be like me teaching a class one day."

"How old are you exactly?"

"I'll be 18 in two weeks."

_Damn, so I can't hit her._

When Marley asked for the check, the waiter informed them that the meal was already comped. The waiter winked at Mercedes, forcing Kitty to ask, "Did you guys take some kind of waiters blood oath or something?"

"No. I just come in here from time to time."

Sam stared at his lover for a beat too long at her words. Clearing his throat, he signed that it was probably time for them to go.

On the quiet ride home, Mercedes' mind wandered. The day was nothing like she'd thought it would be, and honestly was ready for it be over. She was grateful not to have to sit in the middle this go around, having Kitty and Puck flirt most of the way, so when Marley pulled in front of her house, she swiftly slid out of the backseat, mindful to thank and wave at everyone.

Sam got out of the car with her, but Mercedes stopped him. She took his hand. "I'll text you tonight," she signed. She kissed his cheek and with that, headed towards her front door. Sam didn't know what to make of it, but knew that their day wasn't over. He thanked a disappointed Marley and waved off the two in the backseat, rushing towards Mercedes' front door before she made it inside.

Mercedes sighed as she heard the car pull off. She was ready for a glass of wine and an episode of "1,000 Ways to Die," when she felt the hand on her shoulder. She leapt in panic, but soon realized it was only him.

She turned and signed, "What's wrong?"

"I should be asking _you_," he replied.

"Nothing. I'm fine, Sam."

"You kissed me on the cheek. Who does that?"

"I don't know, Sam. Who am I? Am I your girlfriend? Your muse? The crush that you let sleep over? Some silly waitress you sometimes fuck?"

He leaned forward, yearning to touch her, but thought against it. "I'm sorry this day was shit."

Not wanting to think about it, she asked, "Do you need me to take you home?" She asked, not wanting to think about it."

"No. I don't wanna go anywhere. I just wanna be with you."

"Why?" She gestured. "I live off of the tips in a town with two stoplights. It takes me three trys to sign you my name. I spent most of the day being the fifth wheel in your dreamland, and I get that you're this amazing guy, and-"

"Mercedes." His heart ached.

"Why was my work schedule on a napkin in your truck?"

Sam's eyes grew large, as a stunned "Oh" crept upon his lips.

Mercedes faltered and declared, "They're not too far. I'll call Puck. Get them to come back. What's his number?"

"Please, Mercedes," he said in almost a whisper. He lowered his head and spoke, "A few months ago, Puck and I went to Breadstix After Dark. Told me I needed to get out more. Stop spending all of my time in the warehouse, you know, making him money. And this girl, no, this woman came on the stage in this fiery red dress, and sang her heart out. Everyone was just… mesmerized by her voice. Only I couldn't hear a damn thing. All I caught was this goddess with tears streaming down her face, hitting a note that made my glass of water shake. Everyone cheered, but she kept crying. And all I wanted to do was hold her. Ask how I could make it better.

" I tried to get up the courage to talk to her, but this crowd swarmed around her. And who was I? Some deaf guy, who didn't even hear her performance, wanting to tell her she was spectacular. Then when Puck and I reached the parking lot, we saw her behind her car door, changing out of her dress and into a uniform for the Lima Grill. It was like watching Black Widow turn back into Natasha Romanoff. So… Puck and I went over to the diner to get cheesecake and talk storyboards, with all my luck we sat in her section. And she flashed this smile. God, even the moon would be jealous. But her eyes didn't reach it. And I went to give my compliments to the chef, when really I just wanted to figure out how I could see her again. And I did. Every Tuesday. Then two days ago, she signed 'You're welcome,' and now my heart is a fixed point.

"I'm sorry Puck's an asshole. And I'm sorry about the girls and making you feel left out. That was—"

Before he could finish, her lips were on his. She released his pout with a gentle smack and warm liquid feeling throughout their bodies. Sam brushed his mouth against her earlobe and helplessly husked, "Can I stay?" He felt her lazily nod her head.

She let him into the house, where he grabbed her from behind. Mercedes shut her eyes tightly and laced her fingers with his, tightening the hold. She led him into the kitchen to look at the flowers once more, and pushed him against her formica kitchen table, turning to catch his pillowy lips. Nibbling the bottom one at a teasingly slow pace. Sam moaned when she pulled away, and reached for her. A coy smile crept upon her features.

"I remember you," she signed.

He looked at her curiously.

She explained, "You were the only one that didn't— you weren't as animated as the rest of them." Her hands gripped his belt buckle, tracing the steel and brown leather. "During the sax solo, I was thinking 'I sure hope my singing isn't interrupting his thoughts.'"

Mercedes dropped to her knees. Her face confronted his zipper. She fought the metallic teeth and sought forth her prize. She gave a long, measured lick to his throbbing cock, and Sam's legs grew uneasy. She looked to find him boring an amorous hole into her skull, as she embraced the task of taking him into her mouth. Each bob propelled a different moan out of Sam, descending into desperation and yearning. What wasn't able to fit into her mouth, she worked with her hands. She felt his fingers hesitantly graze her hair before placing them delicately on her shoulders. She knew he wanted to be gentle with her, but the position she was in didn't allow much room in the grace department.

She freed a hand from his cock and grabbed his wrist. Before Sam could say anything, Mercedes placed his palm at the back of her head, forcing him to use a tight grip. With this newfound permission, Sam pushed her head farther onto his length. Making love to her mouth, he found himself getting close, but he wasn't ready yet. He gently pushed her back, and smirked at her frustration. The boastful young man reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed it to her.

"Condom," Sam gestured. He helped her off of her knees, and let his pants drop to his ankles. He gripped her elbows to lure her closer, dropping his face into the pool of fabric bunched atop her breasts. Mercedes maneuvered through Sam's wallet amongst all of the commotion, pausing at his driver's license picture. She giggled at some new information.

Sam raised his head, "What?"

Mercedes smiled brightly and spelled, "E-L-L-I-O-T."

His face morphed into a faux menace, "Shut up," only to cause Mercedes to laugh more.

She pulled up his face, "Samuel Elliot Evans." His emergency condom was pulled out of the wallet's folds, and it's gold wrapper was torn open by Mercedes' anxious hands. She was easily distracted by Sam tickling her sides, trying his best to make her forget his middle name.

In their dance, Sam pushed her against the table. "What's yours, then?"

"S-T-A-R-K," she spelled. Sam stopped everything, while she shrugged. "My mom's maiden name," she explained.

His eyebrow raised, "Is that true?"

Mercedes guiltily shook her head, "O-L-I-V-I-A." She stuck out her tongue in taunt, only to have Sam catch it with his pout. He lifted her onto the table with ease, knocking over the glass vase. The sunflowers fell out, as well as, the water cascaded from the table surface to the floor. The spill only registered to Mercedes, who turned to reach for a few paper towels, but Sam pinned down her hands and shook his head. He took the opened wrapper from between her index and middle fingers, giving her nails a sweet peck before he sheathed himself.

In anticipation, Mercedes clumsily pulled down her panties and spread her legs in reception. She howled at the fill of him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a blazing kiss full of desire and need and love. Her arms were meant to wrap around him. His blond tresses were meant for Mercedes' stout fingers to grab. Her thick thighs were meant to encase his waist. Sam, and only Sam. With each forceful thrust, Mercedes found herself sliding back on the wet surface. Sam found the hidden zipper on her dress and made quick work of taking it off. He laid her down on the table, tightening her legs around his waist. He pushed in deeper. Mercedes' hand reached for the wall to help her keep pace and her eyes clamped tightly to enjoy the rhythm. With his wide palm, Sam swept the hair out of his lover's face, planting his cool touch onto her forehead. His touch begged for her to open her eyes, and she obliged. Meeting her brown orbs with his green. Their heavy pants were their sole communication.

Mercedes whimpered, embarrassed to feel a tear trickle from the corner of her eye and into her hair.

Sam licked his thumb and played with her clit until he witnessed her mouth gape in amazement. She trembled beneath his touch; shaking out an orgasm. Sam continued his assault on her button, while he reached his release, crashing his kiss-swollen lips into her soft neck to growl out "I love you, Mercy."

Both were hesitant to move. Their legs were weak and their bodies were worn, but their mouths always sought each other.

Mercedes' eyes followed Sam's wandering hand. "Where's your mop?" Sam signed with his free hand.

Her brow furrowed. "Where's my what?"

"Mop," he spoke, popping the "p" at the end.

"Oh," she smiled. "Over there," she gestured towards the pantry.

Sam reluctantly pushed himself off of her and disposed of the condom, waddling to the trash bin with his pants still around his ankles.

Mercedes stared at the fan above her, and swiftly became aware of what she'd just done on her kitchen table. She felt uninhibited, like she'd never been with anyone else. She was bold with him, for him, to him. And vice versa. She wondered how long that would last. That freedom, that readiness, that joy. Sam was joy. She felt gentle pecks against her ankle and looked down to find Sam on his knees sliding her panties up her legs. She wanted to finish the job for him, but Sam would have none of that. He pulled the lace over her magnificent ass and considered it a job well done with a carved smack.

"Sit, " he instructed with one hand, while handing her a glass of iced tea with the other. Mercedes did as she was told and sat down in the cushioned metal chair beside her. She crossed her legs at the sight of him, shirtless with a mop in his hand, cleaning off the floor and setting the sunflowers beside her on the table.

She took a whiff of the tea and a small, cool sip, kicking up her feet and stretching her legs atop the recently dried table.

… Sam was joy. Another heady, tea-filled glimpse at Sam made her heart clutch.

* * *

** A/N: Yeah, my godsister's been playing a lot of 2 Live Crew and it's insufferable, but catchy. The songs in here were "Hoochie Mama" and "Bad Ass Bitch," both of which I want performed at my funeral by the cryogenically frozen head of Michael Bublé. Also, I wanna live a world where Blaine becomes Mr. Magorium.**

**Review if you so choose.**


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